Interlude
by LadyRhiyana
Summary: The next time an ancient enemy or would-be rival kicked down the gates of the Kamiya dojo and demanded that hitokiri Battousai face him if he dared, the universe…blinked. A short time-travel ficlet.


**Interlude  
** **Summary:** The next time an ancient enemy or would-be rival kicked down the gates of the Kamiya dojo and demanded that hitokiri Battousai face him if he dared, the universe…blinked.  
 **Disclaimer –** I don't own Ruroken, any of the canon characters, situations or settings.

* * *

It was a beautiful spring morning. The sky was an endless pale blue, and though there was a slight chill in the air the sun was warm on the back of Kenshin's neck. He had no time to register all this, though, for yet another challenger had come to the Kamiya dojo and demanded that Kenshin come out and fight.

The duel was quick and fierce, his opponent young, strong and well-trained; still, he was no match for Kenshin, though Kenshin let it drag on for a little longer than necessary, to allow the boy to save face. It would serve no purpose to humiliate him.

"You fought well," Kenshin said when it was all over, kneeling beside the boy's sprawled body. He rather thought he'd broken some ribs with an early blow; certainly he'd smashed the boy's collarbone with the final strike. "But why were you so desperate to fight at all?"

"To become the strongest," the boy choked out, "to be the one to defeat the great Battousai –"

Kenshin only sighed. It was no use to tell his opponents that he was not the great Battousai any more, that he was 30 years old and not nearly as strong, agile or swift as he once was. Even worse were the ones who tried to force him to "revert", as though his younger self was an alternate personality.

The only difference between Kenshin now and Kenshin as he had once been was that in his youth, he had honestly believed that if he only waded through enough blood he could bring about a new era. He'd forced himself to kill, and kill, and kill, willing to accept the price of his actions; he hadn't realised that the world was not so simple.

He also hadn't realised that his reputation would grow so exaggerated, or that he would attract so many importunate challengers.

* * *

The next time an ancient enemy or would-be rival kicked down the gates of the Kamiya dojo and demanded that hitokiri Battousai face him if he dared, the universe –

Blinked.

Instead of Himura Kenshin of the Kamiya dojo, with his hard-won serenity and understanding, there stood a boy, dressed in a dark blue gi and black hakama, his dark red hair worn high and with his face unmarred by any scars.

The challenger of the day, unshaven and dirty, bristling with aggression and fierce bravado, looked taken aback. "What the hell is this?" he snarled angrily. "I'm here to kill Battousai, not his whelp!"

The red-haired boy, his eyes a strange, eerie golden-brown, stared blankly at the samurai across from him. Mere moments ago, it had been a moonless night in Kyoto, and he'd been lying in wait for a Shogunate official. For one tiny instant, he had felt reality – shift – and now moments later here he was in broad daylight, even the swiftest check of his surroundings enough to tell him that he was no longer in Kyoto; he took absent note of the onlookers, all staring strangely at him – but then Kenshin was used to the stares of others. Their ki indicated that they meant him no harm, and so he dismissed them.

The strange samurai seemed enraged now. "Battousai!" he shouted, turning in circles to direct his voice to the onlookers and the surrounding buildings, his ki streaked with angry embarrassment. "Come out and fight, you coward! Don't send a boy out to die in your place!"

Clearly something very strange had occurred, but Kenshin had neither the time nor the patience to figure it out. The Shogunate official would soon be leaving the Shimabara tea-house and Kenshin had only a narrow window in which to confront him – if he missed his chance, he would not get another. He had to bring this strange interlude to a swift end and return to Kyoto.

There was no time for formalities.

Impatient, he ran swiftly towards the angry samurai, giving his opponent no time to react. When he was within range he drew his sword with long-practiced ease and struck, all in one lightning-swift motion; his opponent had no time to even draw his own sword, but died choking and gasping on blood, eyes wide with astonishment and terror.

As he watched the light fade from the nameless samurai's eyes, he felt reality shift once more, and then he was back in Kyoto, the familiar darkness gathering around him. Barely any time at all had passed; even as he settled back into hiding, he heard the sounds of his approaching prey – shuffling feet, drunken laughter, and the bravado of samurai bodyguards who had no idea that a hitokiri lay in wait for them in the shadows.

He put the strange, inexplicable interlude out of his mind, and with it the anguished cry of one of the onlookers, a woman crying out _Kenshin, no!_


End file.
